


Fire Meets Gasoline

by TheVoicelessRomantic



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Assistant District Attorney Midge Klump, Broadway Star Kevin Keller, CEO Veronica Lodge, Corporate Lawyer Mary Andrews, Detective Betty Cooper, Ex-Cop FP Jones II, F/F, F/M, Fashion Designer Cheryl Blossom, Fire Chief Tom Keller, Fire Department of New York, Firefighter AU, Firefighter Archie Andrews, Firefighter Chuck Clayton, Firefighter Joaquin DeSantos, Firefighter Mad Dog, Firefighter Moose Mason, Firefighter Reggie Mantle, Investigative Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones, Investigative Reporter Jughead Jones, Local News Reporters Hal & Alice Cooper, M/M, Music Producer Josie McCoy, New York City, Paramedic Fangs Fogarty, Paramedic Sweet Pea, Photographer Toni Topaz, Preschool Teacher Polly Cooper, Retired Firefighter Fred Andrews, Waitress Melody Valentine, Waitress Valerie Brown
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-01-23 12:26:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18549742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheVoicelessRomantic/pseuds/TheVoicelessRomantic
Summary: Park Avenue Princess Veronica Lodge has it all. The daughter of the late Hiram & Hermione Lodge, she’s the heiress apparent to Lodge Industries, one of the most prestigious & largest real estate empires on the East Coast. She’s at the forefront of New York’s social scene. The best seats at the ballet & opera, VIP tables at every restaurant & club in Manhattan, and sought after by designer & photographers. A dedicated philanthropist & former debutante, as well as a shrewd businesswoman with a sharp mind & jawline to match, she’s well-respected by all who meet her.Archie Andrews is an NYC firefighting legacy. The grandson of a commissioner & the son of a 9/11 first responder, he’s a rising star in the department. A high school football star turned firefighter, he’s as all-American as they come. Besides being devastatingly good-looking, he’s brave, modest, and a strong leader; well-respected by anyone he meets.They first lay eyes on each other in St. Patrick’s Cathedral the day Jason Blossom is laid to rest on a crisp, clear Saturday in October. The rest is, as they say, history.





	1. To Burn, To Smoke, To Smolder

**Author's Note:**

> _This is a story about death and loss; fear of commitment, the concept of right and wrong and the morally grey; loyalty, sacrifice, friendship, brotherhood, courage, bravery, grief, our fear of our own mortality, but most importantly, love._
> 
> _This is a story about love._

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Some say the world will end in fire,_   
>  _Some say in ice._   
>  _From what I've tasted of desire_   
>  _I hold with those who favor fire._   
>  _But if it had to perish twice,_   
>  _I think I know enough of hate_   
>  _To say that for destruction ice is also great_   
>  _And would suffice._   
>  _-Robert Frost_

"And if you'll just sign here, Miss Lodge." 

The fountain pen feels heavy in her fingers as she presses it to the paper and writes her signature. It shouldn't hurt so much to sign her name with a flourish at the bottom of the notarized page, but it does. 

_Veronica Cecilia Lodge_. 

She pops the cap back on, lays the pen down on top of the stack of papers, slides it back across the table, and that's it. 

She is now the owner and CEO of Lodge Industries and all of its properties, savings, and assets. 

She's imagined this very moment since she was a little girl dressing up in her mother's pearls. She's been waiting for the glorious day when her father stepped down, and she stepped up to take over the family business for pretty much her entire life. But instead of all-consuming joy, all Veronica feels is hollow acceptance. And she can't really call it a family business anymore anyways, not when her family is dead. 

"Is that it then?" 

"For now, Miss Lodge. Although there's still the matter of sorting through your parent's things…" She pointedly ignores Mr. Meyers, her parent's attorney and the attorney for the company. She's in no state to worry about that today. It can wait. 

"Unfortunately, Mr. Meyers, I have a funeral to attend this afternoon. But I'll have my assistant call you when I'm able to set aside some time." She's already standing so that Andre can help her into her coat. 

"Miss Lodge, before you go—" Mr. Meyers is wringing his hands and mopping his sweaty brow with his handkerchief. Veronica does have somewhere to be but the poor gentleman looks like he might faint dead away and he's one of the only loyal associates she has left. 

"What is it, Mr. Meyers?" She's buttoning herself in and knotting the tie at her waist as Andre passes her handbag. 

"It's necessary to sort your parent's affairs as soon as possible to avoid any, ahem, difficulties." Veronica nods slowly. She knows exactly what he means. 

"I understand, Mr. Meyers. As I said, I'll have my assistant arrange a meeting with you as soon as I'm available." The older man nods and reaches out his hand for her to shake. Veronica hesitates. There's something so final about a handshake, particularly this one. Her parents have been in the ground for thirty-one days, fourteen hours, twenty-seven minutes, and thirteen…fourteen…fifteen seconds but right now, at this moment, is when the full impact of their loss finally hits her. 

Her parents are gone, and she's all alone. 

Steeling herself, Veronica reaches out and grasps his hand, shaking it three times. Firm, but not hard; exactly like her father always taught her. 

"Thank you, Mr. Meyers. I won't forget everything you've done for me." It's something her father would have said. 

_Don't ever forget a cut or a kindness, Mija_. 

The memory of her father settles over her like a warm blanket, and Veronica blinks a few times to clear her head of haze and her eyes of tears. 

She gives the attorney a small smile and then she's out the door with Andre following close behind. A blast of cold air hits her as she pushes out the revolving doors of Meyer, Goldman, FitzPatrick, and Burke. The sudden change in temperature clears her head, and Veronica takes a moment to gather herself. She looks at the skyline and admires the way the sun reflects off the Freedom Tower and pulls the tie of her coat tighter around her in an attempt to hold herself together and keep all her feelings from spilling onto the cold New York pavement. 

The car is waiting promptly as usual, and Andre opens the door so she can get in. Then, he closes it behind her and climbs in the front seat beside Smithers. 

"Home, Smithers." 

"Yes, Miss Veronica." 

Home being the jewel in her father's real estate crown: The Waldorf Astoria. It was the last property he'd acquired before the _accident_ , and Veronica had the privilege of being there to witness it. 

Hiram lodge could work a crowd like no one she'd ever seen. His natural charisma and ability to read the room and adapt accordingly was unparalleled, and he used it to his advantage. The Hilton's found themselves nodding and saying yes to his demands without really understanding why until he had negotiated the building right out from under their noses. 

Veronica had been blessed with the same charm and intuition her father had, and while in her, ehem, _younger and more promiscuous years_ had used it to get whatever her heart desired, she's mellowed out considerably now. 

The suspicious deaths of your parents will do that to you. 

And now here she is, not even twenty-five years old yet and the CEO and owner of a real estate empire. She should be celebrating. She should be on top of the world. Instead, all she wants to do is crawl into bed and cry. But she's got a funeral to attend, and no tears left to shed. 

The car is quiet except for the deep croon of Bing Crosby coming from the radio. Smithers expertly guides the Cadillac through the congested Manhattan streets. He's been her driver as long as she can remember; toting her back and forth to school and parties and galas. No matter what, Smithers has always been there. 

Throughout her life, people have always come and go. She'd learned early on that her family's wealth and influence attracted all the wrong kind of attention and that very few people were to be trusted. 

There was her nanny, Marta, a Russian lady who used to hum Russian choral music to put her to sleep at night. She now lives in a nice retirement home out on the Hamptons. 

Then, of course, there's Smithers, her loyal and faithful chauffeur. He's seen every version of Veronica there is and lived to tell the tale. Veronica had footed the bill when his son got excepted to Dartmouth this past year. 

She couldn't forget about Andre, either. A former NYPD police detective and U.S. Marine, he had a wife and two little kids in a nice brownstone just across the bridge in Williamsburg. 

Then there was Ethel. Ethel Marie Muggs, Veronica's first friend all those years ago when Ethel's father was still on good terms with her father; before Hiram Lodge made "necessary cuts," and he had to, "let Mr. Muggs go." 

They'd been inseparable as children even though Ethel went to public school and Veronica went to Spence. Even though Ethel's family lived paycheck to paycheck and Veronica's family was the one signing them. 

They spent countless afternoons with Marta in Central Park feeding the ducks or in the back of Veronica's town car as Smither's drove them to get ice cream or walking hand in hand under Andre's watchful eye in the Bronx Zoo. 

But then her father fired Mr. Muggs, loyal, kind-hearted Mr. Muggs, and she and Ethel stopped talking. 

That was when they were thirteen, just two girls on the cusp of womanhood. Seven years past before Veronica reached out to her, against her parent's wishes, and asked if Ethel wanted to get coffee one morning. From then on, the two were inseparable again. It was the kind of friendship where you can pick up right where you left off as if nothing had changed. 

The stop of the car in front of the building breaks Veronica's train of thought. As soon as Andre opens the door, the sound of the city hits her like a freight train, and those pensive thoughts evaporate. It's hard for her to think these days, especially here, in the city. Even her penthouse suite feels too loud sometimes; too haunted by the ghosts of days past when she was happy. Or at least she thought she was. 

\--- 

There's a unique solemnness that blankets New York City on days like today. When a firefighter is killed in the line of duty, it's not just his house that mourns. It's the entire city. The loss is felt just as keenly by complete strangers as it's felt by his family. 

And that's what Firehouse 84 is. A family. A ragtag one, but a family all the same. 

Lieutenant Archie Andrews, of Engine 54, sits in one of the pews of St. Patrick's as he listens to the service for his friend and Commanding Officer, Jason Blossom. Beside him on his left sits Chief Tom Keller, his fellow lieutenant, Chuck Clayton, and the rest of the house: Reggie Mantle, Moose Mason, Joaquin DeSantos, Mad Dog, Sweet Pea, and Fangs. 

In the row in front of them is Jason's heavily pregnant wife, Polly, and their two children, five-year-old Daniel, and three-year-old June. Jason's parents and twin sister, Cheryl, also sit in the front row on the opposite side. And Polly's sister, Betty, an old friend of Archie's, and their parents, Hal and Alice, sit beside their grieving daughter. 

Archie's eyes begin to wander and that's when he sees her. 

She's seated directly across the aisle from him, a vision in black. She's got her glove encased hands folded primly in her lap, and he can see her rosary wrapped around her fingers. Stocking clad legs are crossed in front of, and her hair is the same shade as her coat, black as black can be. It reminds him of the billowing black smoke from the top of that abandoned warehouse. She's wearing a hat with a little veil that obscures most of her face, but he can see that her lips are a delicious shade of berry and it makes him want to bite them. 

_Get a hold of yourself, Andrews. This is a funeral for Christ's sake._

The priest is murmuring something, no doubt leading the gathering in another prayer, but all Archie can look at is the woman across the aisle. Her lips move as she prays and Archie knows he should be doing the same. But if he prays for God to be merciful on Jason's soul, it means admitting that he's dead at all. And accepting Jason's death means acknowledging how close he came to the same fate. 

He'd rather not think of that again. 

\--- 

Veronica can feel his eyes on her. The red-haired firefighter sitting just across the aisle from her. The birdcage veil of her hat obscures her eyes just enough so that she can check him out without him being any the wiser. 

He's handsome; even through the dress uniform, she can tell he's built. And if she hasn't been numb for so long, she'd feel bad about being all hot and bothered in the middle of her friend's brother's funeral service in St. Patrick's Cathedral. 

He seems to be out of it. He's fidgety, anxious. She can see it in the way his shoulders are set and the twitch of his fingers against his knees and while there are hundreds of firefighters in here (and hundreds more outside) she knows he's from Jason's house. She knows what grief is, better than she would like, and the deadness in his eye tells her all she needs to know. 

The movement of his fingers draws her eyes to his hands, and she thinks about those large, calloused hands wrapped around her thighs or pinning her arms above her head. 

She's going to need to go to confession after this. 

\--- 

"I ask that the members of the Fire Department of New York, active and retired, please rise and stand in place until seated by my command." The solemn voice of the fire commissioner rings out over the hallowed ground of Cypress Hills Cemetery, and Veronica watches in awe as hundreds of men and woman in dress uniform rise for their fallen comrade. 

Then, four groups of five bell strikes ring out and, over the silence, Veronica can hear the sobbing. 

"The signal five-five-five-five has been transmitted. It is with deep regret that the Fire Department of New York announces the death of its member, Captain Jason Blossom, on October 6th, 2018. Captain Blossom's assignment is completed, and he has returned to quarters." 

She watches, teary-eyed herself, as two young men, no older than her, fold the FDNY flag draped atop the casket and pass it to the next of kin: Jason's wife, Polly. She can see their little boy, Daniel, standing tall at his mother side, his father's helmet clutched in his tiny hands. It's almost as big as he is. 

"Company, present arms." The still-standing firefighters salute at the same time; a sea of black dress coats and pristine white gloves against starch white hats and Veronica finds herself sobbing without really knowing why. 

When the service is over, and the crowd has begun to disperse, she excuses herself and walks the little ways back to the majestic white marble headstone that marks her parent's final resting place. 

"Hi Mom. Hi Daddy." She bends down and brushes some fallen leaves off, running her gloved fingers over the engravings of their names. A cold wind blows across the cemetery and makes her shiver even through her wool coat. 

Veronica lingers a bit longer and sends up a tearful prayer before standing up tall, brushing out her coat and taking a few deep breaths. 

"Veronica?" A soft, feminine voice comes from behind her and Veronica turns to see her friend, Manhattan ADA, Midge Klump. Midge is a tiny girl, with small features and long dirty blonde hair with wide hazel eyes. But don't let her pixie-like looks fool you. She's an absolute lion in the courtroom. She's got the highest conviction rating of any ADA in Manhattan and is on the fast track to becoming the next DA before her thirtieth birthday. 

"Smithers is pulling the car around." Veronica nods but can't bring herself to look away from her parent's grave. Midge comes up beside her and links their arms as they turn and walk back towards the entrance. 

\--- 

The Whyte Wyrm is a little hole in the wall dive next to Pop's diner in Brooklyn. Within walking distance of the firehouse, the two small, family-owned businesses have been a staple of the neighborhood for as long as Archie can remember. 

Him and Jason and the guys had spent countless hours in Pop's before and after shift, gorging themselves on greasy food and coffee and milkshakes, bullshitting around and flirting with the waitresses. 

The Wyrm was where they went after the hard days. The multiple casualty days. The bone and blood and tears days. The "we almost died, but by some miracle, we didn't days". 

The Wyrm is where Archie is now, sitting on a stool, and slumped over the worn wood bar, nursing a bottle of Budweiser and allowing his mind to drift to the beautiful woman from the church. 

His mind keeps darting back and forth between images of her lips and images of her legs. He hadn't even seen her face; he doesn't even know her name so why does he want to press her against the nearest flat surface and have his way with her? 

Maybe it's because a little more than a week ago he had stared death in the face and now he just wants to feel alive. Maybe it's because it's been months since he'd enjoyed the company of a woman; taking care of his dad was more important. 

Whatever the reason, he needs to stop thinking about her before he pops a semi right in the middle of Jason's celebration of life and has to go into the bathroom and either think about dead bodies or jack off. 

Neither are particularly appealing ideas since he knows what's gone down in the men's bathroom of the Whyte Wyrm. (It's him. He's gone down in the men's bathroom of the Whyte Wyrm. More times than is probably acceptable.) 

"Archie?" He closes his eyes and swallows as he hears Polly's voice behind him. He swivels in his chair and schools his expression into one of tired acceptance. 

"Hey, Polly." He gives her a hug even though it physically pains him to do it. Not because he doesn't think she needs or deserves it but because he can't look her in the eyes. How do you tell a woman that you could have saved her husband but you couldn't because you froze? He's a firefighter, one of New York's Bravest and he _froze_. He feels so ashamed. 

"They told me you were there. That you tried to save him." Archie has to swallow back the bile that rises in his throat. Polly's looking at him like he's some hero and he can't handle it. 

"Polly, don't. I-it's okay." She nods all teary-eyed and kisses his cheek before little Daniel is dragging her away, asking for a juice box and some goldfish. 

He swivels in his stool, turning his back on the other mourners as they mill around behind him. He motions for another beer but changes his mind and settles for something stronger instead. Fangs, whose part-owner, sets a glass and the whole bottle of bourbon down in front of him without Archie even having to ask. 

He's pouring a glass when he hears the echoing footfalls of someone wearing heels walk across the floor and then a body is sliding into the stool next to him. 

"Do you mind sharing?" 

It's the woman from the church; his raven-haired mystery. She's taken her coat and hat off, and now he can see her face. She has stunning eyes; wide and dark and mesmerizing and he feels like he could get sucked in. Her nails are painted a deep, purplish-red, and she's wearing a string of pearls that only help to emphasize her creamy skin, exposed by the décolletage of her silky black dress. 

"Not at all." Instead of asking Fangs for another glass, he simply takes a drink from his and pushes it towards her. He expects her to flinch or make a face, but she picks it up, downs it in one go and sets it back on the counter in one fluid movement. 

There's her lipstick print right there on the side of the glass and Archie looks at before offering her his hand to shake. 

"Archie Andrews." 

"Veronica Lodge." 

\--- 

Ten minutes later, Veronica finds herself pressed against the old wooden bathroom door of the Whyte Wyrm's ladies' room as Archie drags her panties down her legs and tucks the scrap of black lace in the pocket of his dress uniform pants. 

There's not a whole lot of talking happening which is fine with her. He's very focused on lifting her with his hands under her thighs and situating her on the sink so that's she delicately balanced. She widens her legs so he can step between them, and the movement causes her dress to ride up her thighs, exposing the tops of her stockings and the garter belt she's wearing. 

He puts his hands on top of her thighs and runs his fingers under the strap of her garter. It's gentle, much gentler than she was expecting, and it makes goosebumps break out all over her body. 

In contrast to his gentle hands, Archie's lips are rough against hers. He kisses her like he's starving; like he's got something to forget and nothing to lose. That's good. So does she. 

Veronica's hands are just as frantic as his lips as she pushes his jacket off his arms and unto the floor and tugs his dress shirt out of his pants. Then she's pulling his pants open, sliding her hands underneath his boxer briefs and wrapping her fingers around him. 

"Fuck." 

Veronica fumbles for her clutch on the sink behind her and pulls out a condom. He smiles at her and while on anyone else it would be lascivious, on him it's playful and maybe even heartwarming. 

She hands him the condom and while he puts it on, she kissing his neck and running her hands up and down his muscular back. 

He pulls away and makes her look at him as he guides his hips forward and into her. Veronica closes her eyes and just feels. She feels for the first time in what feels like months as Archie grabs her legs and hikes them up on his waist. She locks her ankles together just above his ass where the tops of his uniform pants lie and she tangles her hands in that fiery red hair of his. 

He buries his head in her neck and his breath stutters against her skin when he's all the way inside. The sudden movement of air causes her hair to stir and when he pulls back to look at her, he runs his thumb across her lip. Smudging her lipstick in the process but also brushing the stray wisps of hair away from her face. 

She's still wearing her dress, garter, stockings and heels, and Archie's pants are only pushed down to his thighs but this is the closest she's felt to another human in God knows how long. She pushes her hands into the sides of his shirt where it hangs loosely from his body and digs her perfectly manicured nails into his firm ass cheeks and she allows her self to feel. 

"Please." 

She doesn't know what she's begging for, and maybe it's too many things at once, but he must understand because he listens to her and begins moving in and out, a long, slow, sensuous drag that makes her want to sob it feels so good. 

\--- 

When Archie dragged her into the bathroom and pushed her up against the door, he was expecting something fast and hurried. But once he has her in front of him, he wants to take a little time with her. It's the closest he's felt to another human being in God knows how long. She makes him feel alive as she moans in his ear and pulls his hair, as she tightens around him and squeezes her hands against his skin. 

She smells like something expensive, and he'd be willing to bet it's Chanel No.5. Her lipstick is smudged from his thumb and his mouth, and he's sure he's covered in it as well, but right now he can't bring himself to care. 

\--- 

When Veronica comes it's with Archie's hand on her clit and his lips on hers, swallowing the moans she can't hold back anymore. He slumps against her as he comes too, but even then, he doesn't stop kissing her. 

In fact, he doesn't stop kissing her until there's a pounding on the door. 

That right there shatters the post-coital bubble of bliss they'd been floating in. Archie pulls away and throws the condom out, and Veronica hops off the sink, straightening her dress and fixing her hair and lipstick in the mirror. 

Suddenly, she feels embarrassed. She's just fucked a total stranger on the sink of a bar's ladies' room at the celebration of life for her friend's brother. She can feel a panic attack coming on, and she's out of the bathroom before Archie even has his shirt tucked in again. 

She denies it, but Veronica is terrified. Terrified of what Archie made her feel and terrified of allowing herself to go down that road with anyone. And while she tells herself over and over and over again that it was just sex and it doesn't mean a damn thing; she knows it's not true. 

Veronica can't help but want to get to know him. She wants to know why he looks so sad, so beaten down, so weary. She wants to help him with whatever battles he's fighting. 

\--- 

He doesn't even get to say anything to her before she bolts, breezing out the door and leaving him panting in the ladies' room. 

He's not sure nor does he know what the hell just happened but something's changed. Veronica made him feel alive again. But it wasn't just the sex; he wants to know her. Archie wants to know why she wears berry-colored lipstick and who gave her the pearls around her neck and why she looks so sad all the time. 

But mostly, he just wants to know, _who is Veronica Lodge_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. This story has been months in the making and I'm so excited to finally share it with everyone. This fic is my love letter to New York, to Riverdale, but most importantly to Varchie, who are the reason I'm publishing my writing today. Without them, I wouldn't have met the awesome people who inspired me to write at all, let alone have the confidence to publish it.
> 
> A very special thanks to Emily for giving me love, support, inspiration, and guidance throughout this process.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @daydreamronnie.


	2. Take Me To The Water, Wash Away My Sins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The water understands civilization well;_   
>  _It wets my foot but prettily, it chills my life but wittily,_   
>  _It is not disconcerted, it is not broken-hearted:_   
>  _Well used it decketh joy, adorneth doubleth joy:_   
>  _Ill used it will destroy, in perfect time and measure with a face of golden pleasure_   
>  _Elegantly destroy._   
>  _-Ralph Waldo Emerson_

Chuck Clayton is not amused. He is, however, a responsible friend and that's why he's helping Archie "I'm not that drunk" Andrews up the stairs of his loft. He'd watched his friend drink an entire bottle of Jim Beam by himself at the celebration of life, and if Chuck hadn't seen Archie drink an entire 12 pack of Bud Light in the span of two hours, he'd be worried. 

He knows that Archie's been struggling. Things haven't been easy for his fellow lieutenant, and Chuck knows that. He doesn't know what went down on that floor that day. He was venting with Moose and Reggie on the roof while Jason, Archie, Mad Dog, and Joaquin were clearing the building. 

Jason sent Mad Dog and Joaquin up while he and Archie searched the ground floor. No one knew what happened. One minute they were fine and the next, the radios cut out and there was an explosion that shook the entire block. 

By the time they found Jason, Archie was giving him CPR, but it was too late. Fangs and Sweet Pea got in there and pronounced him dead at the scene. 

Chuck doesn't want to see Archie go down the same rabbit hole he did a few years ago. Two years prior, he lost a kid in a house fire. She was only nine years old, and although he'd tried to save her, her crush injuries and smoke inhalation were too much. 

Archie had fucked up his shoulder on that same call and crawled inside a pill bottle for the better part of the last year and a half and had a hell of a time getting back out again. Had it not been for Jason, who helped him get into NA and helped him stay on the wagon, well, Andrews wouldn't be here right now. 

"You should have seen her, Chuck. The most beautiful thing I ever saw. It was like Audrey fucking Hepburn was standing there in front of me." 

Chuck is nodding along and trying not to laugh because he's pretty sure his friend is imagining things in his drunken state. But then he sees black lace sticking out of his front pants pocket, and he shakes his head in well-meaning admonishment. 

"I'm sure she was, man, I'm sure she was." Archie flops on his bed, barely kicking off his dress shoes while Chuck pulls the curtains shut. He'll thank him in the morning. Archie's pretty much dead to the world now, so Chuck leaves a tall glass of water and a bottle of Advil on the nightstand next to him. He lays a blanket over his friend, makes sure switches off the lights, and heads out. 

\--- 

Veronica holds her breath as she sinks under the hot water in her tub. She lets the water flood her ears, and the world drowns out. She can't hear anything, nothing at all, and the silence is heavenly. She stays under water until her lungs begin to burn and then she bursts up, coughing and trying desperately to catch her breath. 

She rubs her hands over her eyes and pushes her wet hair back from her face. It's late, and she's exhausted, but she can't get her mind or her body to shut the fuck up long enough for her to fall asleep. She thought that the lavender oil would help her relax, but somehow she's more on edge than she was before. 

She can't get Archie Andrews out of her head, and she doesn't know what to do about it. She had followed him into the bathroom expecting a rough, rushed fuck against the bathroom sink. 

But Archie was much gentler with her than she was expecting and she doesn't know how to feel about that. Being with him was the first time she's felt normal in a long time, and the magnitude, the _intensity_ , of that realization is overwhelming. 

Veronica closes her eyes and leans her head back against the edge of the tub. She lets her fingers drag across her breast, remembering the warmth of his lips and tongue against her skin. 

She trails them around her nipple, and then below the water and down her stomach. Her breath catches as she circles her fingers around her clit, her back arching as she remembers the stretch of him inside of her and the contrast of his soft lips and calloused hands all over her skin. Her other hand toys with her nipple, pinching and pulling it into a firm bud. 

When she comes, she's gripping the lip of the bathtub so tight her knuckles are white. She opens her eyes, and it takes her brain a minute to catch up. A long-forgotten sense of relief washes over her, and she smiles, her head rolling against the edge of the tub. 

Something has shifted and although she can't quite place her finger on it, she knows one thing is certain; whatever happens from here on out, it's all because of Archie Andrews. 

\--- 

Archie wakes up the next morning to a wet, warm nose and tongue on his face. He groans and bats the furry body away. Vegas, his lab, is on top of the bed, whining in his ear to get him up and attem. But Archie may as well be dead to the world. He's pretty sure he barely qualifies as a person right now, both physically, mentally, and emotionally. 

He doesn't remember much from yesterday, but he sure as hell remembers the raven-haired woman who had haunted his dreams. Her lips, her legs, her hair, her eyes. Archie remembers every bit of her in vivid detail, even while the rest of that day is blurry or completely missing at all. 

It's not a bad memory to have if he's being completely honest with himself. If the only thing he remembers from that terrible day is Veronica Lodge, he can die a happy man. 

He's got the shift off because Chief Keller insisted upon it. Which means he has a whole twenty-four hours to kill. He needs to go grocery shopping and check on his dad. And he's been promising Jughead breakfast for months now. 

He can decide later, right now he needs to get out of his dress uniform and into the shower. He smells like the Wyrm, his head is pounding, and his muscles are aching from sleeping all night in the same position. 

He gets his jacket and shirt off without falling over but has to sit down on the edge of the bathtub to take off his shoes and socks. Vegas is laying down the entire time, sprawled across the bathroom tile and watching his human struggle with what should be a simple task. 

Once he's actually in the shower, he turns the water up as hot as it will go and watches as it turns his pale skin bright red. It's more about taking the edge of the numbness than anything else, but Archie always feels a little bad when he gets in this headspace. 

He hates to complain or ask for help because he's _so_ lucky to even be alive right now. Jason _died_ and left behind a pregnant wife and two kids. Archie could suck it up. 

He tries not to think about Veronica while he's in the shower but his dick won't leave him alone, and he's too tired and worn down to ignore it. 

He feels bad as he wraps his hand around himself and strokes up, but the guilt takes a back seat to pleasure as he remembers how soft the skin of her inner thighs was and the little whimpers and moans she made in his ear while he fucked her. If he focuses hard enough, he can remember what she smelled like and what flavor her lipstick was. 

"Fuck." 

It slips from his parted lips as he comes, his cock stuttering through his curled hand as sensitivity overwhelms him and he comes down. The shower rains down and washes everything away, and Archie feels a bit better. 

When he gets and picks up his pants, something small, black, and lacy flutters to the floor. He bends over to pick it up, and when he remembers what it is, he grins. 

He should probably get the panties back to her, but he only knows her name, and there are millions of people in New York City. Maybe he'll hold onto them for a while, a keepsake or souvenir from that encounter with Veronica Lodge, the first time he's felt anything but guilt and sadness in a long time. 

\--- 

Betty is tired. It feels like she's been up for days, combing through witness statements and crime scene photos and still _nothing_. There's not one thing, not one sliver of evidence that can support her theory. 

Polly didn't have to ask Betty to look into the cause of the fire that killed her husband. Betty, with her natural inquisitiveness and desire for justice, would have done it anyway. That's why she had become a cop in the first place. 

She's just about to give up when something catches her eye. It's a newspaper clipping from Vermont. 

**State Police Investigating Suspicious Fire That Left Real Estate Tycoon and Wife Dead.**

She doesn't know how it got there, but she sure as hell doesn't care. She reads through the article and picks up the phone, putting in a quick call to the Vermont State Police Headquarters and asking them if they can send her their files. They begin faxing them and emailing them over, and Betty can feel that shift in the atmosphere when a case picks up. 

One particular photo is extremely interesting. It looks to be in the basement of the house and in the midst of all the rubble is a wire coil with the chard remains of what appears to be a Styrofoam cup. There are two more in other areas of the basement. 

Betty's picks up her phone and dials the one person she knows she can trust. 

\--- 

Archie is standing at his dad's stove, frying bacon, eggs, sausage, and pancakes for breakfast. His dad is in the living room, sitting in his leather armchair. Vegas is laying by his feet, occasionally begging for scraps but mostly just keeping him company. 

Fred Andrews is one of the last of a dying breed. Literally. He'd been diagnosed with stomach cancer last year, a direct result of the time he spent at Ground Zero on 9/11 and the days, weeks, and months following. Most of his company had died that day, and he'd lost countless friends since from the illnesses that ran rampant through the first responder community. 

It was hard for Archie to watch his dad deteriorate in front of his very eyes. The cancer was aggressive and nearly impossible to treat, and while Archie knew that death was inevitable, he tried not to think about it as much as possible. 

"How are you doing there, Arch?" 

He comes into the kitchen with Vegas at his heels and sits down at the island. Archie sets his plate in front of him, and Fred reaches for his pill container. He hates all the meds; he only takes them for Archie. If it were up to him, he wouldn't be taking them at all. He's tired. Tired of all the medication and the doctors and the needles. He's just tired of it all. 

It's much easier on his stomach to eat and then take his medication, so Archie makes sure that he's there to cook him breakfast whenever he's not on shift because he knows Fred won't always do it by himself. 

It's a strange thing to take care of your parent. They spend all that time taking care of you, and when you're a kid, it doesn't really dawn on you that someday, you'll have to be the one stepping up for them. 

His mom had walked out on them when he was thirteen; she decided that "finding herself" was more important than raising her child or keeping the promises she made to her husband. Fred is on better terms with her than Archie is, although he knows deep down the cancer means he should reach out. 

It's a beautiful morning in Brooklyn, and Archie is shoveling pancakes into his mouth when his phone rings. 

"Archie, hey, it's Betty. Listen; I need your help."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is, the long-awaited, much-anticipated chapter two! The response to this story has been overwhelming. I can't thank all of you enough for the love you've given it (and me)!
> 
> Once again, thank you, Emily, for listening to my half-crazed ramblings at extremely odd hours and your continued support and advice, both with this story and with life. 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @daydreamronnie.


	3. To Dazzle In Your Daydreams, To Dance Amongst The Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _They witnessed her destruction,_   
>  _Then were left to wonder why,_   
>  _She saw nothing but the darkness,_   
>  _Though the stars shone in her eyes._   
>  _But maybe they’d forgotten,_   
>  _When they failed to see the cracks,_   
>  _That a star’s light shines the brightest,_   
>  _When it’s starting to collapse._   
>  _-Erin Hanson_

Archie knows it's serious by the tone of Betty's voice. It had always been her biggest tell, even when they were kids, and the same is true now. If you want to know how Betty Cooper really feels, just listen carefully to her voice. 

She asks him to meet her at the abandoned warehouse, the place where Jason died, and Archie almost says no. There are too many demons there, but then she says, "Please, Arch," and he knows by her tone that she's desperate and she needs his help. 

And Archie Andrews is not the kind of man to let a friend's call for help go unanswered. So he agrees. 

When he pulls up, she's leaning against her car, arms crossed over her chest with the cool breeze blowing the loose strands of her ponytail around her face. Her expression is solemn, serious, and a little bit sad. Archie understands because it's often his expression these days. 

She smiles as he gets out of his truck and walks over, throwing her arms around him. 

"Thank you for coming. I know this is hard for you. I'm sorry." Archie just shrugs, beckoning her to follow him to the door. 

Everything looks so much different in the light of day; he almost doesn't recognize it without the black smoke billowing out of the roof and the yellow-orange glow of the towering flames dancing across the walls. 

Archie's not sure what he's looking for, but Betty seems intently focused on searching for something, so he simply walks around, surveying the area and waiting for her to explain what the hell is going on. 

Betty gets into these trances when she's knee deep in a case. Her focus is insane; it actually used to freak Archie out when they were in high school. But he knows that's what makes Betty such a good cop. Her single-minded determination to solve a case is admirable. 

Archie's walking around the ground floor, turning over pieces of debris when he sees it. 

Near where the stairs once stood is a large outline. The floor around it is black with ash and soot, but this spot, this one, singular, _body-shaped_ spot is clean. Seeing it makes Archie sick to his stomach, and he kneels down before his legs give out and he collapses. 

This is the spot where Jason died. When the floor above them came crashing down, Archie had barely been hit. But Jason was. Crushed almost completely under the weight of the materials from above them, he was pinned under hundreds of pounds of debris and unable to move. 

Mustering all of his strength, Archie was able to shift the pieces of ceiling enough so that he could get to his captain. Jason's alarm was going off, piercing the air with shrill, sharp sounds every second, signaling to his fellow firefighters that a man was down. 

Archie doesn't remember a whole lot after that. He'd been hit in the head when the ceiling came down, and his memory is spotty. He gets flashes here and there, like what's happening right now, but they're quick, and just before he can really tap into them, they're gone; fading away, back into his subconscious. 

"Archie," Betty lays a hand on his shoulder to get his attention, "you need to look at this." 

He follows her to the middle of the building where there appears to be a pile of debris on the floor. The closer he gets though, the further his stomach sinks. 

"This wasn't an accident." It's not a question; it's a statement because he already knows what he's looking at. 

"No. We're looking at an arson." 

\--- 

Back at 84, Betty, Archie, and Chuck are in Chief Keller's office with the door closed, and the rest of the house gathered outside, trying to figure out what the hell's happening. 

"It's not good news; did you see Andrews's face?" Reggie says, running a hand through his hair. 

"If Betty's here, it's something to do with Jason. It's gotta be." Mad Dog has known Archie Andrews since middle school when this skinny little white boy dragged himself into his uncle's boxing gym. He can read him like no one else (besides maybe Jughead Jones). 

He _knows_ something is terribly wrong. 

\--- 

"Chief Keller, I have reason to believe that this was a targeted arson. Someone went through the trouble of rigging up several of these fire starters," Betty sets the wire coil holder on his desk, "and placing them in a high-risk building in your district." Chief Keller rubs his chin and leans back in his chair. 

"Betty, are my firefighters in danger?" 

"We'll need to dig a little deeper but, this is the second fire within a month with this M.O. I don't think it's a coincidence." This catches Archie's attention. 

"What do you mean the second fire? Where was the first?" 

Betty sighs, and pulls a file folder from her bag, "When Polly asked me to look into the fire that killed Jason, I knew it was because she had a bad feeling about it. And the more that I read up on it, the more I did, too." 

She hands Archie, Chuck, and Chief Keller the photos she took today at the warehouse and photos from another crime scene. 

"These top photos are from a house fire in Vermont. I stumbled across the newspaper clipping, and as soon as I read through the article, I made a few calls." Archie can see the devices are the same. A single wire coil with the charred remains of a Styrofoam cup within it. 

"What made you make the connection?" Chuck asks her. 

Betty looks hesitant at first, but then she says, "Hiram Lodge and his wife, Hermione _died_ in this house fire last month." 

Archie nearly chokes. 

"Lodge? As in, Veronica Lodge?" 

Betty gives him a peculiar look but answers all the same, "She's their daughter. And good friends with Cheryl Blossom—" 

"Jason's twin sister." Archie says, more to himself than anyone else. 

"The Lodge's and the Blossom's have been business partners going all the way back to Prohibition. One month both Hiram and Hermione end up dead, and the next month it's Jason?" Betty poses the question, and for a moment, it feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room. 

"So you're saying—" Chief Keller shares a look with Archie and Chuck. 

"I'm saying Jason Blossom's death wasn't an accident." 

\--- 

Veronica is nervous; fidgety. She has her first meeting with the Board of Directors in a few hours, and she's sick with fear. When she was little, she had always imagined that when this moment came, she would still have her mother and father to lean on for comfort and guidance. 

But she's almost entirely alone. She has her tight-knit circle, of course, but when it comes to Lodge Industries, she's flying solo. 

It's absolutely fucking terrifying. 

She has some jazz playing on her record player and her oil diffuser going as Ethel and Midge sit on her large bed and fawn over the outfits she has picked while she gets ready. 

"Personally, I think you should go with something unexpected. Like red," MIdge holds up a silk blouse with long sleeves and a loose collar, "Release your inner Cherry Bombshell." 

Veronica turns away from her mirror, "I want to look professional. Mature and professional and not like I'm a little girl playing dress-up." She gets up and goes to her closet, pulling a cream-colored blouse and a pair of cropped dress pants with a matching blazer from her closet. 

"Mom gave me this." She fingers the hem of the shirt, "She said everyone woman should have a little black dress and a killer pantsuit in their arsenal." Ethel and Midge exchange a sad look. 

"I think I'll wear this with my red Manolo's." 

Veronica lays the outfit across her lounge and goes back to applying her makeup, trying to calm the shaking of her hands. 

\--- 

Chief Keller stands in the common room, hands on his hips and trying to find the words to tell his men that their captain was murdered. 

"Chief, what's going on?" Sweet Pea asks, sharing a concerned look with Fangs when he receives no answer. 

"While the investigation is still ongoing, it's become increasingly clear that the warehouse fire that killed Jason was no accident." Everyone exchanges looks of shock and sadness, but mostly anger. 

"Are you saying someone started that fire?" Reggie stands and curls his fists. 

"Considering the M.O., not only was this an arson, but it was targeted arson. Someone set this fire specifically so that Jason Blossom would respond." Betty explains. 

"Who's the next target?" Moose asks from the back of the room. 

"Potentially. We all are." Archie says. It's the first time he's said anything in a while. Betty turns to look at him and lays a hand on his arm. 

"Just…please, be careful, all of you. If this last fire was any indication, it means that whoever is doing this is escalating. Be safe, be smart. Look out for each other. Just like Blossom always said." Chief Keller says something to Betty and escorts her out, allowing her to hug Archie before she leaves. 

The guys exchange looks. Everyone is on edge now, so thank God it's the end of shift. Fangs, Sweet Pea, and Joaquin head to the Wyrm, Moose says something about going to see his dad, and Chuck and Reggie have long-standing post-shift drinks at a bar in Manhattan to pick up rich girls. 

That leaves Archie and Mad Dog. 

"You wanna go hit some bags, Andrews?" 

Archie, despite the overwhelming barrage of emotions he's feeling, agrees. 

"Right now, that's just what I need." 

\--- 

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen of the board." Veronica stands at the head of the conference table, a stack of file folders in front of her that she hands to Ethel to distribute to each member. 

"I'm pleased to be meeting with you all today, although the circumstances are less than ideal," she smiles sadly and can see several board members mirror her expression. 

"Before my father died, he spoke to me at length about his desire to expand his holdings in Europe. Particularly France," Veronica motions for the board to open their folders, "after reviewing the finances, I've proposed several potential investments, all well within our annual budget but more than qualified to become whatever we see fit." 

There are some nods and approving murmurs, and Veronica smiles. 

_Just breathe._

\--- 

When Archie walks through the door of his apartment that night, he's exhausted. He's too tired to eat, even though he knows that he should. The emotional toll of his morning with Betty and the physical toll of his afternoon with Mad Dog has taken it out of him. 

He drops his bag on the floor near the door and flops on the couch, rubbing the heel of his hands into his eyes. He's got the urge to find something to dull the pain; it wouldn't be hard. He knows where to go. That numbness is what he craves on days like today when the world seems to be coming at him again and again without a moments pause, and he can't catch his breath between hits. 

It's a lot like football. But with pills instead of plays. 

He craves what he can't have in more ways than one. Finding out who exactly Veronica Lodge is was a shock to his system, considering he'd dragged her into a bar bathroom, fucked her on the sink, stole her panties and had gotten himself off to memories of her more than once. 

He should have known that someone like her would be completely out of his league. They usually are. He can't bring himself to feel guilty or sorry about what had happened though. Even if he never saw her again, Archie knew that she had changed something in him he isn't sure how to explain. 

She wanders into his mind tonight, despite everything he's seen and done and realized today and he comes to the conclusion that when he's thinking about her, he doesn't want to be numb. He wants to remember how she felt, how she tasted, what she sounded like in his ear. 

Archie pours himself a glass of bourbon and goes outside on his fire escape. The air is cold tonight because there are no clouds to be found. He can see the stars clear as day, bright and twinkling and he sips his bourbon and wonders if Veronica Lodge is gazing up at these same stars right now, thinking about him. 

\--- 

When she arrives home later that night, Veronica is spent. She kicks off her heels and throws her blazer over the top of the couch. Pouring herself a glass of wine, she checks her answering machine. 

There's one new message, and when she plays it, she instantly wishes she hadn't. 

"Miss Lodge, this is Detective Betty Cooper with the NYPD. I have some news regarding your parent's case. If you could call me back as soon as possible, that would be great," the detective leaves a number and Veronica writes it down on a pad of paper and sighs before picking up the phone and calling the detective back. 

She doesn't remember much of that phone call. Mostly because she started to breathe so hard she felt like she might pass out. 

_Arson. Murder. Escalating._ Those are the only words she recalls. But they're enough to reassure her that at least she wasn't crazy. Something about her parent's deaths has never sat right with her. It was all too perfect, too coincidental, to simply be an accident. 

And now she has proof. She thinks of poor Cheryl and Polly and of course Jason, who had been murdered just like her parents and she's angry. She's furious. She wants whoever did this sunk to the bottom of the Hudson with a cinder block. 

She'll deal with that later. Right now, she can't think about this. She forces herself not to think about, and instead she thinks about Archie. He's been a frequent star of her daydreams lately; both innocent and not so innocent. She likes thinking about him. It helps her stay calm. Veronica doesn't want to cry, so she steels herself and daydreams about her red-haired firefighter. 

She steps outside on her balcony, and looks at the buildings and the stars and thinks about Archie Andrews, with his boy-next-door look and his magic hands and wonders when she'll see him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Here's chapter three! We're finally going to be exploring the mystery side of the story. You've learned about what _really_ happened to the Lodge's and to Jason Blossom, which is only the beginning. I'm doing my best to keep Varchie slow burning for a bit (absence makes the heart grow fonder) but even fic Varchie just can't seem to stay apart. My muse is practically begging them to come together again. 
> 
> I can promise you that Varchie's time apart in this fic will be decidedly less painful than it was this season (thank God that's over). I'm so excited to share with you all everything I have planned for this fic. It's been many months in the making and I've got a million, billion, trillion things I want to explore so be prepared! 
> 
> Thank you once again to Emily, who is my confidante and rock for all things Varchie fic and many things in life. 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @daydreamronnie.


	4. Ashes To Ashes, Dust To Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I wanna watch all my bridges burn,_   
>  _Stand in the rain till the page is turned,_   
>  _Dance in the light of a lesson learned._   
>  _I wanna leave everything that hurts,_   
>  _Never go back to the way we were,_   
>  _Set it on fire, baby, watch it burn, watch it burn._   
>  _-Bridges Burn, NEEDTOBREATHE_

Veronica wakes up to a wet nose against her cheek. She rolls her head over, but the nose follows, this time accompanied by a high-pitched yipping in her ear. 

"Georgie, shush. Mommy's sleeping." She runs her manicured hand through the fluffy blonde fur and drags the Pomeranian's little body onto her chest. 

Georgette Lodge, Georgie for short, was a gift from her friends just after her parents died. The penthouse apartment was so big and so empty that a happy little puppy was exactly what it needed. 

Veronica is grateful for the joy Georgie brings her every day. 

Said friends are coming over this morning for their weekly Monday morning breakfast. It's a long-standing tradition, dating all the way back to her Spence days. It started with Veronica, Cheryl, and Josie McCoy, fellow Spence students, and high society daughters. 

Every morning, Smithers would pick them up from their Park Avenue penthouses and drop them at the Met, stopping somewhere along the way to purchase croissants and coffee before finishing the walk down Madison to get to school. 

It became one of the few blessed constants Veronica ever had. 

As the years went on and the trio entered college, they added Midge Klump and Kevin Keller to the mix. Veronica met Midge at Columbia where she was studying business and Midge was studying law. Josie was the one who introduced them to Kevin. When she found him, he was singing in bars and hole-in-the-wall dives in Brooklyn, hoping to make it to Broadway. 

Ethel joined eventually, too, once Veronica had reached out to her again. Together, they made quite the sextet, more than once earning a spot on Page Six or the Enquirer. 

In the past few years, when her relationship with her parents became strained and ultimately reached an all-time low, Veronica had come to rely on them more than anything. And when the unimaginable had happened, they stood beside her, held her hand, and cried with her. 

She couldn't ask for a better family. 

The five of them plus her Abuelita, Smithers, Andre, and Marta are all Veronica has left. But she's anxious to see where Archie Andrews may fall. 

She's still reeling inside about the true nature of her parent's death, and those feelings are at conflict with the feelings a certain red-headed firefighter has left her with. 

Veronica's thought about Archie nearly every moment since she rushed out of that bathroom. The way his hair fell into his face, the sweat beading on his neck as he held her up against the sink, the sharp angle of his jaw and the smoldering brown of his eyes. 

But it's much more than just the physical she recalls so vividly. She remembers in agonizing detail the look on his face as he helped carry Jason's coffin out of the church, and the way his hands clenched while he prayed. His eyes were so sad, and she suspects he's seen more than someone his age ought to. 

She's eager to share her musings with her friends; it's been far too long since she's seen anyone; even casually. Not since Nick. 

Nick St. Clair was the son of fellow real estate tycoons and a permanent fixture in Veronica's life since she was a little girl. They dated on and off from middle school all the way to college until Nick got involved with some shady business and even shadier people. 

He was never a good guy anyway, as her friends, particularly Cheryl, had tried to tell her. But after he got involved with the drug trade, Nick got worse. He made no efforts to hide his anger and manipulation from her. The first time he hit her, she brushed it off and made excuse after excuse; even as tears ran down her bruised and bloody face as Kevin pressed a cool cloth to her sore skin. He was upset, she had provoked him, but he apologized and promised he'd never do it again. 

But he did do it again. And again. And again. 

When Veronica finally plucked up the courage to escape him, she couldn't believe she allowed herself to be in that situation. He left the city not long after; extended business in Japan had kept him halfway across the world for the better part of the last year and a half. 

Still, he looms over her life like a dark cloud, haunting her every step with the final threat he threw at her. 

" _Better watch your step, Ronnie, you have no idea what I'm capable of_." 

Thinking about Nick always puts her in a dark place, and with the shocking news about her parents, she can't afford to be any more in her head than she already is. 

She's going down to the precinct this afternoon to speak with Detective Cooper, but for now, she'll try to relax and enjoy her morning with her friends. 

Reluctantly and with a groan, Veronica sits up and stretches as Georgie runs around her in circles. She gets up and slides into her obnoxiously fuzzy bunny slippers, a gag gift from Kevin that she quickly fell in love with. 

By the time she's putting on her robe, Georgie is practically vibrating with excitement, no doubt more than ready to be spoiled by their guests. 

Veronica descends the stairs, her silk robe billowing out behind her, and Georgie The little blonde puffball wriggles and squirms out of Veronica's hold and runs over to Kevin who picks her up. 

"Hey, Blondie." He feeds her a little piece of croissant from his plate. Usually, Veronica would never allow anyone to feed her dog table scraps, but for Kevin, she's willing to make an exception. 

"Morning, Kev." 

"Hello, gorgeous." He presses a kiss to her cheek. 

"Margaret, how are you this morning?" 

Veronica smirks as she uses the dirty blonde lawyer's full name. Midge hates being called Margaret; a disdain she acquired from listening to years of her overbearing mother screaming it at her. 

Midge rolls her eyes and sticks her tongue out, "I'm fine, thank you very much," Midge pops a raspberry into her mouth from one of the crystal bowls on the marble island top, "how are you after your liaison with that red-headed firefighter?" She waggles her eyebrows while Kevin looks back and forth between the two women. 

"Wait, wait, wait," he says, rounding on Veronica, "that was _you_ in the bathroom with Archie?!" 

Veronica flushes. 

"Oh _my God_." 

"How do you know Archie?" Veronica asks, busying herself with eating in an effort to hide her blush. 

"He's a lieutenant in my dad's house, and one of the hottest men in New York, of course, I know who he is," Kevin waves his hand idly, brushing off Veronica's distracting question, "what I want to know is how you ended up in the ladies room with him, V." 

Veronica turns from the sink, taking another bite out of her croissant as her two friends patiently wait for all of the scandalous details. 

"It was nothing, Kev. Just two ships passing in the night." She's trying to play it cool, but Kevin has always been able to read quite unlike anyone else. He says everything she feels is always in her eyes. 

"That's bullshit, and you know it." 

Veronica sighs. It is bullshit, and she does know it. 

"V," Midge says softly, "you must have really liked him if you followed him into the bathroom. We all know you're not the casual sex kind of girl." 

It's true. 

Her teenage and early college years had been filled with endless hookups and no strings attached, friends with benefits arrangements when she wasn't seeing Nick. Post-Nick, she hadn't been with anyone at all. 

It wasn't that she hadn't wanted to or for lack of willing partners. After the whole Nick debacle, she felt she couldn't trust her own judgment in the romance department. The thought of ending up with someone like him terrified her. 

Beyond that, Veronica hadn't been with anyone who was able to fulfill her both sexually and emotionally. None of the men she hooked up with had been able to be with her in the way she needed and still stick around afterward. 

So she invested in a good vibrator and some erotic novels to get her through the long, lonely New York nights. 

She doesn't know a lot about Archie. He's a firefighter, he was Jason's friend, and he's a good lover. She doesn't know much about him, but she wants to. In their brief encounter, she had seen much of herself reflected in his eyes. 

"He's someone I could get to know better." She allows cautiously, finally meeting Kevin's gaze. 

"What are we talking about?" 

The companions turn and greet Cheryl as she breezes through the door, not looking at all like she just buried her brother or found out that he was murdered. 

Josie and Ethel aren't far behind, laughing at something on Josie's phone and laden down with more bags of food. They stop just behind Cheryl, looking curious. 

"Veronica fucked Archie Andrews in the bar bathroom on Saturday." Midge blurts. 

"Midge!" Veronica says, the flush returning. 

"Good for you, girl, those firefighters are god-tier sexy. The guy sitting next to him, Clayton, was the name I think…" Josie makes an obscene gesture which sends the group into hysterics. 

"How was it?" Ethel asks, hopping onto a barstool and waiting for an answer. Everyone's looking at her in anticipation, and Kevin is practically vibrating like Georgie was just moments ago. 

Veronica groans and throws her head back, "It was the best sex I've ever had." 

The next few hours of Veronica's morning consists of her friends hounding her for details and teasing her for liking Archie Andrews a bit more than she should. 

For the first time in a long time, Veronica feels normal. 

\--- 

Archie runs down his street, chest heaving and sweat pouring off his body as he moves. Eddie Van Halen's guitar riffs are the soundtrack to his adrenaline propelled morning, which consisted of a shower (where he jerked off to memories of Veronica…again), checking on his father and making sure he ate, and a quick trip to the firehouse to check in with the guys. 

This afternoon he's meeting Betty at the precinct to discuss the case but the next thing on his morning agenda is meeting Jughead for breakfast. 

Jughead Jones is an investigative journalist for the New York Times; his life-long dream finally come to fruition. Neighbors and childhood best friends, they've been attached at the hip since practically birth. 

The two boys, plus Betty, who lived across the street, had made up what their parents had come to refer to as "The Three Musketeers." They spent nearly every waking minute together. Although life had taken them far from each other, they all made an effort to get together whenever their equally crammed schedules would allow. 

"Well, if it isn't Pureheart the Powerful." Jughead is sitting in their booth at Pop's, a huge spread of breakfast food across the table in front of him. His laptop sits amongst it all, his fingers flying over the keys, eyes never leaving the screen, not even when Archie joins him at the table and begins to dig into a stack of pancakes. 

"What are you working on, Jug?" Archie asks in between mouthfuls of warm, fluffy pancake and sticky, sweet maple syrup. 

"My novel." 

Archie smiles. Jughead has been working on his novel since their sophomore year in high school. He was always very secretive about it, and he still is. Archie and Betty had pressed him for information for years until finally, they gave up and just accepted that they were never going to get anything out of Jughead regarding his work. 

"Jug, listen, I need a favor." Jughead turns serious. He looks up at Archie and meets his eyes for the first time that morning. He stops chewing, stops typing, and even lowers his laptop screen. 

"What is it, Archie?" 

"I need you to write a story." 

\--- 

Jughead stares at his friend, looking for any indication that he's joking. 

He's not. 

Jughead is no stranger to these types of requests. Being an investigative journalist for one of the most prominent newspapers in the U.S. means he's courted by very mighty people to dig up dirt on other very mighty people. But he's partial to the smaller cases; the everyday injustices that go unchecked and overlooked. 

These types of requests don't shock him. No, it's not the request, rather it's who's making it that makes him uneasy. 

Archie is the most moral, upstanding, _good_ person he knows. If he's asking him to do this, it's got to be something serious. 

"A story about what?" 

Archie looks around, suddenly seeming very ill at ease. 

"Jason Blossom's death wasn't an accident, Jug. And it's looking like he's just the latest of three victims." 

Jughead furrows his brow. His interest is piqued. "Are you telling me that there's a serial arsonist on the loose?" 

"Look, Jug, I don't know for sure, okay? I still have to talk to Betty and Veronica Lodge, but that's what it's looking li—" 

"Wait, did you say, Lodge?" 

"Yeah. Veronica Lodge. Her parents are the other two victims." Jughead's gears begin to turn upon hearing this. 

"So a real estate tycoon and his wife die in a house fire. And a month later, a well-respected firefighter and a devoted husband and father dies in a warehouse fire," Jughead rubs his chin, "interesting but still just coincidental." 

Archie shakes his head, "Not when both fires were started the exact same way." He pulls two polaroid's out of his shorts pocket and slides them across the table to Jughead. 

The dark-haired boy scrutinizes them. He can see that both devices are indeed the same, but even then, it's still circumstantial. 

"Even if they are connected, why? What's the nexus?" 

"I don't know, Jug. I'll have more information after today, but I need _you_ to do this for me." Archie looks at his friend, and Jughead can see the depth of his desperation. 

"You can dig up dirt on anyone. I need you to do what it is you do best and help me get to the bottom of this." 

Jughead thinks for a moment. Hadn't he just been reminiscing the other day about how nice the old days were? How close he and Betty and Archie used to be and how much he hoped things could be like that again someday? 

This might be his chance. 

"Alright, Archie. I'll make a few calls; see what I can find out." 

"Thanks, Jug." 

The two men are quiet after that. Pop tells him how nice it is to see them back in their old booth and how they're only missing Betty and The Three Musketeers will be back together. 

Archie and Jughead share a smile. 

Just like the old days. 

\--- 

When Veronica bids farewell to her friends and climbs in her town car to head to the precinct across the bridge in Brooklyn, she can't help but hope that maybe, just maybe, she'll see Archie again. Once the cat was out of the bag with her friends, she didn't even try to be nonchalant with her questions. Veronica has this uninhibited need to know everything she can about Archie Andrews so on the off chance that they do run into each other again, they can have an adult conversation before pulling each other's clothes off. 

Stepping out of her town car and into the bustling streets of Brooklyn fills her with a sense of dread, but also one of hope. From what Cheryl was able to tell her, Betty Cooper is a dedicated and thorough detective. If anyone can solve this case, it's her. 

The 36th precinct is a beautiful building, no doubt at least one hundred years old, if not older. The steps are stone, as is the archway above her, and Veronica, always an appreciator of architecture takes in the sight, impressed. 

Detective Cooper is waiting for her in the lobby, looking solemn. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and her green eyes are severe and sad. That seems to be the mood in her circle these days. 

Everyone's a bit too serious, a bit too bitter. 

"Veronica? Hi, I'm Detective Cooper, nice to meet you" she extends her hand, and Veronica shakes it, "I wish it were under better circumstances." 

Veronica smiles sadly. 

"Betty, I have the reports from the warehouse fi—" 

Veronica hears him before she sees him. She'd know his voice anywhere; she's been thinking about it pretty much non stop for the past two days. 

Archie trails off when he sees her. It's not a physical touch, but it certainly feels like it as he drags his eyes down her body and back up again to meet her eyes. 

"Um, Archie, this is Veronica Lodge. Veronica, this is Lieutenant Archie Andrews." Betty is looking between the two of them rapidly, very confused but Veronica and Archie don't notice. They haven't once taken their eyes off of each other. 

"Pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant." 

"You too, Miss Lodge." 

The formalities only make the entire exchange all the more thrilling, and Veronica rubs her thighs together under her skirt. 

The poor detective has the funniest look on her face as she watches Archie and Veronica shake hands. A few seconds pass and neither one of them lets go of the other's hand. 

"Uh, we should probably get started. There's a lot to talk about." 

\--- 

Betty leads them to her office in the back. Archie holds the door for the two women, and when Veronica walks by, she brushes against him, just barely, just enough to let him know she's _there_. 

Once they're settled and Betty's gotten them something to drink (Earl Grey, cream and sugar for Veronica and coffee, black, for Archie). 

Archie is hardly paying attention to what Betty is asking Veronica. He's too focused on the furrow of her brow as she asks clarifying questions or the way her plump, berry-colored lips are pursed around the rim of her mug as she sips her tea. 

He's so busy daydreaming about her; he doesn't realize that Veronica's asked him a question. 

"What was in the cup?" She asks him, and Archie almost doesn't tell her. He looks at Betty, but it's Veronica who says, "you can tell me, it's okay. I'm a big girl." 

Archie again looks at Betty who nods. 

"This wire coil holds a Styrofoam cup. Inside the cup is something like brake fluid mixed with an oxidizer like hydrogen peroxide. It's a homemade accelerant." 

As they go on and the questions turn towards her parents, Archie's intense and ongoing study of Veronica's face means he catches every little shift in her expression. He can see she's uncomfortable with the direction of the questions. 

"Did your father have any enemies? Anyone who might want to hurt him or would gain from his death?" 

"My father was a very powerful man. He had a lot of friends and twice as many enemies. It could have been anyone." Betty nods as she scribbles things down in her notebook, but Archie can't take his eyes off Veronica. 

He can tell the questions are bothering her; they've been at this for well over an hour, going over documents and asking questions and picking apart every little detail of her life. 

Betty doesn't notice Veronica's pain, but Archie does. 

When she excuses herself to the ladies room, he turns to Betty. 

"That's enough for today." He says. 

"Arch, I still have questions for her. We've got to establish the connection between her parents and Jason Blossom." 

"Not today, Betty." 

"But Archie—" 

"Not. Today." 

He hadn't meant to let his anger get the best of him today. Betty was just trying to do her job. And he knew that this case hit just as close to home for her as it did for him. But when it came to Veronica, he didn't know what it was, but he felt this innate need to protect her. To give her what she needs. 

Betty, with her razor-sharp mind and legendary detective skills, begins to smile at him, probably putting two and two together. 

"Wait, Archie is that—Is she the woman from Saturday?" When Archie doesn't answer, just hurriedly takes another drink from his coffee mug and blushes from his ears all the way down to his neck, Betty laughs. 

"She is!" Archie pointedly doesn't make eye contact with his friend. 

"She's what?" Veronica comes out of the bathroom at the most inopportune time. She's got her hands on her hips and is looking at Archie accusatorily. 

"Nothing. Um, I was asking Betty if you were done here for the day. Maybe we could grab some dinner? If you don't have…previous…engagements." 

\--- 

Archie is rubbing the back of his neck nervously, shuffling his feet, and stumbling over his words. It's a stark contrast to the demanding demeanor of their last encounter. She can't even remember the last time a guy was this nervous to talk to her or ask her for dinner. 

"I don't. What did you have in mind?" 

As it turns out, the two find themselves back in Brooklyn. They get food from Pop's and eat it as Archie shows her around his neighborhood. Having been here only two days before, much of what Veronica sees is familiar to her. The firehouse, the newspaper office, Pop's and the infamous Whyte Wyrm. 

It's nice to chat with him. He doesn't care whose daughter she is or how much money she has or how much influence she wields. He asks her things no one has ever asked her before. He wants to hear her opinions, her experiences, her hopes, and dreams. 

No one has cared enough about what she thinks to ask her opinion on much of anything; least of all a guy. Usually, they talk about themselves and only ask after her if they think it'll get them somewhere. 

"So, what do you think?" He asks her as they stroll down the sidewalk, each with a milkshake in hand. 

Veronica slurps and immediately begins to giggle, "Of Brooklyn?" 

He nods. 

"I think it's charming. Quaint. Nice and quiet. I feel like I can think here." 

"I bet your life is pretty loud." 

"Most of the time, yes. There's always something happening in Manhattan. Here it's like someone's turned the volume down and I can actually relax." 

They lapse into silence again, and maybe it's the fresh air or the blessed quiet or the feeling of freedom she feels here, but Veronica is feeling bold, and Archie has been driving her crazy all day with his manners and his chivalry and his all-American charm. 

"So, am I ever going to get my panties back, Archiekins?" The nickname comes to her naturally; she doesn't even think about it before she says it. They've stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, and Veronica glances up at him through her eyelashes, waiting for his response. 

Archie licks his lips as he looks at her, "Black lace, right?" 

"Mhm. With a satin bow on the front." 

He pretends to think about it, letting her hang there a bit longer in anticipation before he says, "I think they're tangled somewhere in my sheets." 

_Oh._

Veronica's breath catches, and Archie notices. Just at that second, there's a crack of lightning and the rumble of thunder. So caught up in each other as they are, neither of them noticed the sky gradually darkening or the fat raindrops beginning to fall. 

It becomes them versus the rain as they sprint to the nearest building, The Whyte Wyrm. Archie yells that he has a key, so Veronica follows him. 

They burst through the door, soaked to the bone and panting from the run. Archie notices how different the bar looks now. The only light comes from the passing cars outside; their headlights shining through the raindrops on the front windows and illuminating the room and Veronica in hazy, grey-blue light. 

Her blazer is all askew, and the silk blouse below it is sodden; wholly soaked through. Her breathing hasn't calmed yet, so the rapid rise and fall of her breasts is only exacerbated by the drenched fabric. She's got mascara under her eyes, and her large careful curls from earlier are gone. Now her dark hair is hanging straight and limp down her back and around her face. Her lipstick has almost worn off, after wearing it all day, and eating dinner, and their sprint through the downpour outside. 

The only sound is the pitter-patter of the rain, the crack of thunder and their heavy breathing. 

Archie feels like he's at the precipice of something great; like she could be what he's been looking for. He doesn't care about the consequences or the what-ifs. He only cares about kissing her right now at this moment. 

Archie stares at her for a moment and then two, his eyes washing over every part of her before he moves. It feels like it takes an eternity for him to reach her but finally he does, sliding one calloused hand across her cheek to hold her small face in his palm and fisting the other in the back of her blazer, using his grip on the fabric to hold her close to him. 

He can feel her stiffen against his chest, and he pulls back to ask her if he can kiss her with his eyes. 

"Please." 

And at that moment, Archie knows he's a goner. 

\--- 

"Please." 

Veronica hardly recognizes her own voice; it's so soft. It's barely a word at all really, more of an expulsion of air from her lungs that sounds like a plea. 

But just like before, in the bathroom of this very establishment, Archie seems to know what she needs without her having to tell him. 

He kisses her deep and smoldering; like he's thought of nothing but this since they last saw each other. She knows she certainly has. Her wet clothes are suffocating her where they cling to her equally wet skin, so she doesn't protest when Archie's hands push her blazer off her shoulders. It hits the floor with a smack, and her shirt isn't too far behind. 

He breaks away from her mouth to help her get her bra off, unclasping it with one hand and pulling it down her arms. He leaves Veronica hanging, her eyes closed and her lips chasing after his. 

Suddenly, Archie is lifting her, and she's jumping to help him, wrapping her legs around him as he holds her steady with his strong hands below her thighs. 

He sets her on the bar and Veronica shivers when the cold, smooth wood touches her legs. Her skirt has ridden up to expose her thighs and the lacy tops of her silk stockings. 

"I've been thinking about having you again since the minute you walked out of that bathroom." The admission makes her moan, long and low as Archie kisses down her chest. He's still wearing his leather jacket and Henley for whatever reason, and it's totally unacceptable to hide what she knows is a glorious body under so many clothes. 

His leather joins her tweed on the floor, and then he's reaching behind himself, pulling his shirt up and over his head. He's barely free from the fabric when his lips latch onto her nipple, drawing the bud between his lips and sucking. Veronica keens and arches into his mouth, her head dropping back on her neck and her mouth falling open. 

Through her lust induced haze, she catches a glimpse of the ink on his bicep. It's the Van Halen logo. Seeing his dedication to them right there on his body makes her smile. 

He's got something else inked onto his left pec, right above his heart, and Veronica desperately wants to know what it says. 

_Omnia Vincit Amor._. 

With Archie's mouth around her nipple and his hands sliding up her legs and dragging her panties down, she can't recall what that means. She's consumed by him. She can't think. She can hardly breathe. 

Veronica shuffles her thighs, lifting them just the tiniest bit so that he can get the cotton and lace down around her ankles before pulling them off and tucking them into the back pocket of his Levi's. It's so possessive yet so familiar that Veronica moans and that pleases Archie to no end. He helps her settle back against the bar, her raven-colored hair fanned around her head like a dark halo. She's well aware that she's panting and hasn't stopped this entire time. Archie's tongue on her inner thigh has her hands sliding into his hair and pulling, trying to bring him closer and her breathing picking up that much more. 

He's avoiding everywhere she wants him to be most, but it's exquisite torture. 

"What do you say, Veronica?" 

"Please, Archie." 

\--- 

"Please, Archie." 

That's what he needs to hear. He's so hard he feels like he might rip right through his jeans. The anticipation has been building the last few days and tasting her is all he's thought about. 

She's warm and wet and so tight when he presses a finger inside of her, quickly adding another when she keens and arches off the bar top. 

"Your mouth." She whimpers, biting down on her index finger to hold back her moans. 

"What was that, Veronica?" He loves this, how she's begging him to give her what she wants. 

"Put your mouth on me, Archie." He pulls his fingers out and sucks them into his mouth, making sure she's watching him as he does it. 

"What do you say?" 

"Please put your mouth on me, Archie, I need it." 

With a smirk, Archie grabs her ankles and gently places them over her shoulders, making sure she's watching him as he licks up her center to her clit. 

She had imagined what he could do with his mouth since she first saw it pressed against the rim of his beer bottle. She had imagined what he would do to her with his mouth with her hand between her thighs and her fingers around her nipple. 

Now she knows, and it's more staggering than anything she imagined it would be. 

When he adds his fingers again, pressing them inside her and curling up, Veronica pulls his hair so hard she thinks she might actually rip it out. But Archie doesn't say anything. He just moves his tongue faster, holds her down harder, presses his fingers deeper. 

"Oh God, Archie, please, please can I come?" 

He looks up at her, hair all a mess and sticking to her sweaty forehead, breasts heaving, mascara smudged, and lipstick smeared. 

She's wrecked, and he did that to her. 

"Come, Veronica."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonjour les amis!!! Here's chapter four! I know it's coming a bit late, but with my work schedule plus my sister graduating high school, I wasn't able to work on it as much as I wanted.  
> 
> 
> I said I was having a hard time keeping these two apart. Looks like my muse decided the slow burn was over! Some of you have already pointed out that the black lace panties have become a Thing™. Well, I'll let you come to your own conclusions about what other occurrences have become a Thing™ after this chapter. Let me know if you've picked up on the themes of the titles and summaries as well!  
> 
> 
> As always, a special thank you to my main girl, Emily, for everything that she does for me. Whether it's got to do with fic or with life, I can always count on her to keep it 100. Thanks Em <3  
> 
> 
> And of course, thanks to you all, the readers and reviewers! The response to this fic has absolutely blown me away, and I can't thank you enough! 
> 
> This fic is nothing without you. So keep reading, commenting, reblogging and leaving those kudos!  
> 
> 
> Since we're in June now, I've decided on a temporary url change. You can find me on tumblr @daydreamronnie.


	5. To Be With You As I have Dreamed, To Hold You As I Have Hoped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered."_   
>  _-F. Scott Fitzgerald_

Somehow, they end up back at Archie's place without getting arrested for jumping each other on the street. Veronica thinks that's quite a commendable feat considering Archie's rock hard in his jeans and she's dripping down her thighs. 

It's pretty dark because of the time of year and the storm, so Veronica isn't able to see much as Archie fumbles for his keys, slams the right one into the lock and pulls her through the door. 

She had to put her soaking clothes back on in order to walk outside and right about now she's regretting it. The tweed of her skirt is rubbing against her waist uncomfortably, and her shirt is plastered to the middle of her back as she follows Archie to his bedroom. 

His warm hand leaves hers and Veronica doesn't realize where he's gone until the bathroom light turns on and the sound of water hitting tile and glass reaches her ears. 

Soon the steam is rolling, and Archie is coming out of the bathroom, his shirt gone again, and his jeans riding low on his hips. The band of his Calvin Klein's are just peeking out over the top of his Levi's, and Veronica nearly chokes on her tongue. 

He's gorgeous. 

She can see his tattoos in their entirety once more; the Van Halen logo on his bicep, the Latin above his heart, and one she hadn't noticed before. There's a number inked on his hip, just below the edge of his jeans. It's simple block numerals, but she can only decipher the first two digits: a two and an eight. 

"Come ‘ere." Archie holds out his hand, and Veronica takes it; lets him lead her into the bathroom, lets him undress her slowly, caressing her skin and pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to her body. 

She steps into the shower, letting the steam and the hot water soothe her muscles and warm her skin. Archie isn't far behind her, kicking off his jeans and boxers and stepping in behind her, settling his hands on her waist and kissing her neck again. 

There was something about a shower that made everything feel a bit hazy, like the after-effects of an orgasm. And right now Veronica is feeling so relaxed it's almost hard to keep her eyes open. But she wants to see Archie. She _finally_ has him bare and wet and all to herself in complete privacy. 

"You're gorgeous," Veronica says, turning around and reaching for his cock, stroking and running her thumb across the head of him on the upstroke. Archie throws his head back and groans, his fiery hair looking exceptionally bright against the tile. 

With the vast difference in their stature, Veronica is at the perfect height to press kisses to the underside of his chin and his jaw, trailing them down across his neck and collarbone. 

"Fuck, Ronnie." 

The use of that nickname startles her. She thinks back to the last person who called her that, his vile tongue wrapping around the letters and turning them into weapons, _daggers_ , to be used against her. 

"Veronica? Are you alright? Was it something I said?" She realizes once he speaks that she's pulled her hand away from him. Archie doesn't seem to be upset about that, though; he looks concerned. 

God, he really is lovely. 

She shakes her head. "No, Archie, you're—God, you are incredible," she touches his face tenderly, running her thumb across his lip, "I just have some bad memories attached to that particular nickname." 

Archie furrows his brows and studies her face, his eyes searching hers, flicking back and forth between her eyes and her lips, just like the first time he saw her. He doesn't press her for more details, sensing the shift in her demeanor and the hesitation in her stance. He can feel the anger bubbling somewhere below the surface, but he's always been good at compartmentalizing, so that's what he does. 

"Okay. How about doll?" And he kisses her. Slow, deep, sensual. It sets her nerves on fire and turns her bones to liquid fire. 

"Or maybe sweetheart?" Another kiss. His smile seeping into her lips and making her do the same thing. 

"Mm, I like sweetheart." 

"Sweetheart it is, then." 

\--- 

They finish showering together, an experience that Archie would describe as the most intimate encounter he's ever had with a woman. He washes Veronica's hair and then she returns the favor, nearly slipping because she's so tiny and can barely reach his head. 

When the water starts to run cold, Archie shuts it off and helps Veronica out of the shower, offering her his hand as she steps over the lip. 

Archie shakes out his hair like a dog, sending droplets of water everywhere; including all over Veronica. She smirks and snaps her towel at him, bending over to dry her legs before Archie draws her into his space again. 

He cups her face once more, savors the way she sighs and melts into his touch, eyelashes still holding onto to tiny beads of water, lips soft and skin warm from the steam, her hair wet still, hanging down her back but beginning to dry, the little strands around her forehead curling. 

Veronica flutters her eyelashes at him as she lets the towel drop, the formerly fluffy cotton hitting the tile floor with a wet smack. Then her small hands are at his waist, pushing the matching towel from his hips, sending it to join its companion on the floor. 

The coil in his gut is building again, so Archie picks her up and carries her into his bedroom, laying her down on the dark sheets and climbing over her. 

\--- 

Veronica has never been one to subscribe to set roles in the bedroom. She likes being submissive just as much as she loves being in charge and with Archie, she wants to embrace that more submissive role more than she ever has. She's never been with a man who could pick up on what she wants without her having to say anything. It's electrifying. 

He had undoubtedly been commanding before; Veronica's never come on command like that. But it felt nice to give up some control. 

Archie doesn't seem to be doing that now, as he climbs on over her then immediately rolls them so that she's on top, thighs on either side of his hips, hands balanced on his chest, and the hot length of him sliding through her folds as she rocks back and forth over him. 

Veronica shuffles forward and lifts up on her knees, Archie's large hand gripping the soft flesh of her thigh to get the right angle as she wraps her hand around him and sinks down. 

"Goddamnit, sweetheart." 

That pet name sounds absolutely sinful rolling off his tongue as his hips roll up into her. Veronica pulls Archie toward her, her hands curling over his broad shoulders and his neck, her eyes fluttering closed. 

The stretch is satisfying in a filthy kind of way; he feels better than she remembers. Archie has his head thrown back, the tendons in his neck drawn tight as he helps Veronica rise and fall, utilizing that gloriously rugged strength to lift her under her thighs. Leaning down, she nips him, not too hard, but enough to let him know she's there, before licking up his neck and kissing his jaw again. 

Suddenly, Archie sits up straight, jostling her where she's spread over his lap. He's breathing heavily, hair sticking to his forehead, chest rising and falling fast. With another quick move, he rolls them again. His strength is impressive. She loves that he can just lift and move her effortlessly; in a purely consensual way, of course. 

Now that she's on her back, Veronica takes a moment to enjoy the view above her. Archie really is gorgeous; the perfect combination of soft and hard. At this angle, she can look down his body and see where his cock is nestled between her folds, hot and hard and so wet; he's practically glistening in the light coming from the bathroom. It makes her moan and squirm, trying to get him to fuck her hard, but Archie doesn't, much to her frustration. 

He does, however, bend down and kiss her, sliding back inside her slowly, his breath catching at the sensation. He's deeper than he was before, but he's also closer, or he _feels_ closer. Her legs come up to wrap around his hips, her hands digging into his back, leaving angry red marks in their wake. 

Archie presses his forehead to hers, their noses bumping each other with each thrust. She's so close, and he knows because he always does. His fingers searched for hers on the pillow, linking them together while the other finds her clit and it's so good; it feels like all of her bones are breaking apart and mending together again as she comes, Archie not far behind. 

\--- 

When Veronica wakes up the next morning wearing an old Van Halen t-shirt and nothing else, she smiles and looks over at Archie. The sunlight is shining across the length of his back, his bright hair ruffled in every direction, and his breath rattling out of his body in a light snore. 

She gets out of bed and looks around for her panties. It's early still, but she knows her friends will be worried about her; she hasn't spoken with anyone since yesterday morning. Her phone is bursting with messages. Nine from Kevin, seven from Ethel, seven from Midge, four from Cheryl, three from Josie, and there's a missed call from Detective Cooper. 

"Leaving without saying goodbye?" She turns around, panties barely up her thighs, and sees Archie sitting up in bed, smirking at her as she blushes. 

"I was trying not to wake you. My friends are wondering where I am." She sits down, and Archie pulls her back into the bed, wrapping his arms around her and nuzzling her ear. 

"So tell them where you are," he kisses her neck, "tell them not to worry," then her jaw, "and let me make you breakfast." 

It's a tempting offer. And an unexpected one. Nick had never done anything like that and the few hookups she'd had certainly didn't, either. 

And he looks so fucking adorable, all half-asleep and cuddly. What's Veronica supposed to say? No? 

"Okay, Archiekins." 

\--- 

Archie's loft is cozy, homey, even for a bachelor pad. Wood floors, exposed brick walls, granite countertops, leather furniture, deep reds, dark browns, and vibrant greens. There's a Norman Rockwell painting on one wall and a copy of Da Vinci's Vitruvian Man on another. In one corner sits an upright piano and a guitar and in the one opposite stands a huge bookshelf stretching all the way to the ceiling. 

Veronica walks around, equating herself with his space. There are pictures on the mantle of the stone fireplace, all featuring the same redhead. There's little gapped tooth, freckle-faced Archie and a bunch of other boys wearing peewee football uniforms, standing with their dads. 

The next one is the same group of boys, high school age now, sweaty and grass-stained, wearing football gear and standing on a field, arms thrown around each other and clutching a championship trophy, grinning from ear to ear. 

The last one is more recent, but it's clearly the same group from the first two pictures, all grown into men now. They still have their arms wrapped around each other, but the grip is tighter now, more desperate. They're still smiling, but it no longer stretches from ear to ear, and their eyes are sad. It's a look Veronica knows well; they've seen too much, much too much, for being so young. 

Archie's standing at the stove, the cheery crackle of eggs and sizzle of bacon the soundtrack to this quiet morning. He's wearing sweatpants that are barely hanging onto his hips and little else. 

Veronica is still wearing the Van Halen t-shirt and had cheekily given Archie her panties in a show of thanks for breakfast. He tucked them into the pocket of his sweatpants with a grin. 

She's bent over the piano, her fingers softly playing the first few notes of Clair de Lune when Archie comes up behind her, a plate loaded with all sorts of delicious breakfast food in his hand. 

"Sweetheart." 

"Archiekins." 

They sit on the couch, Veronica's feet in Archie's lap and he turns on the TV and finds some old cartoons to watch. He's an excellent cook, and every little thing she learns about him makes her want to swoon. But then she hears that little voice in the back of her mind, the one she always hears when things in her life seem to be going well. 

_"Better watch your step, Ronnie, you have no idea what I'm capable of."_

Archie, always so perceptive, picks up on her mood change. 

"Hey," he rubs her calf, soothingly, "you okay?" 

Veronica has always kept the abuse a secret. Part of it's shame, but part of it is also the fear that anyone she tells will face the retribution Nick has in store for her. It's one of the reasons she's so wary of any long-term romantic relationships. Her parents are no longer around to protect her. She's alone and vulnerable. 

"Do you remember last night when you called me Ronnie, and I freaked out?" He nods and scoots closer, setting their food on the coffee table and laying a comforting hand on her thigh. 

"Yeah. Bad memories." 

"Yeah. Um, that's what Nick used to call me. Nick St. Claire. We dated on and off for years. Things were okay for a while. Until he started to hit me." She can feel Archie tense, and he opens his mouth to say something, but Veronica shushes him. 

"I've never told anyone outside my inner circle about that. But I really like you, Archie," she smiles shyly, "and I know it's only been a few days, but this feels like something great. And if we're gonna do this, if this is something you want," she gestures back and forth between them, "then I need you to walk into this with both eyes open." 

She looks down at her hands, expecting him to ask her to leave or to get up and leave himself. It's what people have been doing her whole life, and she's used to it by now, but she doesn't think she could handle it with Archie. 

He doesn't. 

"Okay." 

"Okay?" 

"Yeah," Archie holds his hand out to her, "look, I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since I saw you in Saint Pat's," Veronica smiles, teary, and Archie cups her face with his hand, "I have never felt whatever it is I'm supposed to feel with anyone. Until you." 

_Holy shit._

Archie takes a deep breath and runs his hands through his hair, something he does when he's nervous or anxious, she's noticed. 

"About two years ago, there was this terrible fire in an apartment building in East Flatbush. Family of five. Mom, dad, three kids. They had a pit bull named Roxy." Archie is looking somewhere over her shoulder. He's got this far away look in his eyes, and Veronica knows he's somewhere else, reliving a terrible memory. 

"I was clearing the back part of the house with Reggie. That's when I found her. Her name was Alicia. She was nine years old," he blinks, and a few tears slip out, "she was wearing a Disney princess nightgown and holding a stuffed bunny." 

"Archie…" She climbs into his lap, sensing he needs something ground him. She knows what it's like to get in your head with painful memories. It helps when you have someone or something to remind you to stay in the present. 

"She was hiding in her closet and by the time I was able to get to her she…" He trails off, sniffles a bit, but presses on, "she had crush injuries, smoke inhalation. She was already gone." 

"Archie, I'm so sorry." 

"I fucked up my shoulder pretty good, too, and the pain killers were the easiest thing to make the pain go away. They took the edge off, made it a little easier to forget." 

"But then I couldn't live without ‘em. It got to the point where I couldn't do anything without a pill, and uh, Jason noticed. He got me into NA, helped me stay clean." 

He looks at Veronica, who seems to be crying as well. 

"I've never told anyone that, either." 

They spend the rest of the day wrapped up in each other, taking solace in the fact that they aren't alone anymore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonjour everyone! It's been a hot minute, but life happened. I was working and traveling and spending time with family. But this chapter was never far from my mind. After that orgasmic (ba dum tsss) cliff hanger of last chapter, I was really excited to write this one. This is really the turning point for these two. I think I'd describe this chapter as intimate. Not just in a sexual way, but in an emotional way. Veronica reveals a painful memory to Archie and he, in turn, shares one with her. I debated having them keep these things from each other but in the end, I wanted to write emotionally open Varchie so badly. 
> 
> As per usual, my undying love to Emily, who has proven time and time again to be one of the greatest friends a girl could ever ask for <3
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @daydreamronnie.


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